


Forbidden Desire

by MaskedBlackQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, F/M, Forbidden Love, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lust, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskedBlackQuill/pseuds/MaskedBlackQuill
Summary: To forget the shared trauma, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger decide to give themselves another chance. The world might frown upon, their friends and enemies might have a lot to say against it. Thus, in a forgotten Slytherin bathroom, deep in the bowels of the castle, bathed in the greenish hue reflected by the Great lake, flanked by unseeing mere-people, they dare to explore each other, pretending it to be their first time.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Forbidden Desire

Disclaimer: JKR's characters are just roleplaying in my fics for the time being. This fic has passed TannaraMoonvale’s beta-eyes with flying colors.

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**Forbidden Desire**

It had been a week since the eighth years had returned to create history at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat had gone out of its way by, not only, dividing the arriving students into their houses but also it picked the prefects and the Head Boy and Head Girl on behalf of the teachers. 

Thus, it was no one’s fault that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had a new accessory pinned to the front of their dress robes every morning. The Head Boy, with his watchful eyes and eerily quiet demeanor, and the Head girl, with her no nonsense stoic attitude, moved through the cheerful throng of students in sync. Their unified presence commanded the attention of the student populace much to the awe of the teaching staff of Hogwarts itself. The portrait watched them from their old frames and nodded in acknowledgement when their eyes met. Even Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was overheard whispering to Professor Flitwick, “Maybe Albus knew all along, Granger could bring the best out of Mr. Malfoy.”

It took him a week to actually look her in the eyes and talk to her. The question itself was too commonplace, yet it pushed the planets of her personal universe when he whispered it as they finished their nightly patrol with only a dungeon corridor left for inspection. “How are you?” She noticed him watching her from the corner of her eye. Their boots thumped in sync against the cold flagstone and their wands never left their hands. 

She took her time to assess his question. The words were commonplace and his voice was civil, stripped of its regular bite, and his face was withdrawn. However, the question was not the one he had meant to ask. She knew what he was desperate to learn. She wet her lips, then looked away and whispered back, “Do you sleep at all?”

He stilled and slowly leaned against the dungeon wall for support. She had walked ahead just a few paces before she noticed his absence. She looked over her shoulder then turned as his fingers closed around her wrist. In an instant, she had her wand dug into his neck. She pulled back when he smirked, “War prepares your body to defend itself in funny ways.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have…” she sputtered.

“I say you should have, given our volatile history, Granger,” he looked at her through his blonde fringe and she fought against the desire to brush them off his pale face.

His stormy blue eyes traced her almond face in mock submission. “Would you mind putting an end to all this and kill me already,” he pleaded.

“What keeps you awake, Malfoy?” Hermione asked in concern while studied his ever-growing dark circles as she put away her wand. 

She had seen him empty his stack of dreamless sleep potions in the kitchenette they shared in their Heads dorm and lie to Madam Pomphrey during their evaluation hour. It was a new program where students would meet with the mediwitch and talk. There was no surprise when the two were put together. All those who were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor were aware of Granger’s torture and Malfoy being beaten close to death for his refusal to comply with his aunt’s raving demands. 

“That day…the Manor…my living room…everything…you,” As he closed his eyes, he leaned forward until his forehead touched her head. His long shuddered sigh fanned her flushed face, “It starts with your screams, forcing me to look in your eyes. I see you for the first time. I see you for who you are, what you have become and what I have turned you into.” His fingers traced the air above her ‘mudblood’ scar. He knew well how it looked and felt under his trembling fingers and sweating palms. The only difference was that they no longer bled and turned his pale white palms burgundy red. “And then your screams tear my soul apart. But then I see you writhing under me. I actually choke and wake up screaming...at least my silencing spells work well enough,” he sighed, then twisted his face in self mortification. 

His hands tried to touch her then fell back to his sides in remorse, “I am not this monster Granger, yet it was I who was violating you while the others watched in glee. I am not supposed to be this man. Your humiliation broke me, crushed me, stripped me bare and soaked my soul in acid. Ever since, I am burning inside out. I wished it was me instead of Crabbe... yet I live. Kill me, Granger, set me free.”

She brought her hands up and rested them against his heaving chest and started to rub them over his muscles as they quivered. His hands rose once again and ghosted over her arms, her hips, her shoulders and then fell by his side as he confessed, “I shouldn’t be touching you. You shouldn’t be comforting me.”

“Yet, I am.”

“Yes, wasting yourself. You and your bleeding big heart.”

“Draco, would you mind…” she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.

He saw her cheeks blush and her lips twitch then shook his head, “No, Granger…”

Grabbing his shoulders, she insisted, “There is only one way to forget all this…”

“Hermione, I can’t hurt you again! I have done that enough for this lifetime,” he begged.

“But you weren’t…you never wanted...you were made to do it by…”

“Don’t...don’t say his name...he is not my father...parents don’t do that…” his hands wrapped themselves around her as he tried to protect her from his dead father.

“He is gone. You killed him.”

“He is never gone. I see him every day whenever I look in the mirror. I see him sneering back at me.”

She felt herself melting in his arms. This made more sense to her than the warmth of her Hogwarts robes or her Gryffindor blankets. His warmth accompanied that strange promise of protection...rubbing her face against his Slytherin sweater, she took a lungful of the air trapped in between their warm bodies. His fingers slowly loosened their grip and he rubbed his face against her hair. Only this time, they weren’t touching skin to skin; he wasn’t buried deep within her, filling her up to the brim, against his own wishes. 

Holding on to his forearms, she whispered, “Do you trust me?”

“Surely you jest, Granger. I am still hanging around because you begged me to trust you.”

“Back then, I really meant it...it was the only way to survive it.”

“He broke me in many ways. He made me unlovable. He made me hate myself. I am disgusted by my mind, my blood and soul. Look at you, Granger. You glow and thrive, stronger than ever. I am glad you outlived him. You are braver than you seem…I regret killing him only because it would have been poetic justice if you had cast the killing curse instead.”

As she pretended to not hear his raving words, she said, “The nearest bathroom…” as she pulled back and dragged him around looking for the door.

Confused, he implored, “Why?”

Having found the latch, she whispered against his cheek, “I want to reintroduce you to the man you have become, Draco Malfoy. Trust me; you are not a shadow of your parents. You are surely not your father and you only have your mother’s eyes. You have already become the person Dumbledore always wanted to save.”

As soon as their eyes adjusted to the greenish lights that flooded the underground bathroom, Granger started pulling him to the large mirror which covered an entire wall. The walk was tantalizingly slow. All he could think about was remaining calm. Her warm hands felt perfect: small, delicate and soft. Instead of looking around, he focused on their linked hands and hoped his wouldn't get too sweaty. The sound of their boots reached his ears and he tried his best not to trip as she pulled him deeper into the giant bathing hall. 

Unlike the other prefect bathrooms, where mermaids teased and flipped their tails from the stained glasses, the dungeon opened it’s dark recesses to the dwellers of the Black Lake. While the mer people couldn't tell whether a living being was present on the other side of the magical glass divider, the witches and the wizards enjoyed the serene view of the underworld uninterrupted.

When their eyes met at the huge mirror, Hermione found his eyes roaming over her back. She waited till he blinked and stared at her reflection. “You miss it, don’t you?”

He gulped and asked instead, “What gave me away?”

“You didn’t know much about...you know…”

He coloured, pushed aside her thick chestnut hair and started trailing his finger over her shoulders lazily. The touch was innocent, yet there lingered a promise of intimacy they both had not shared the one time.

“You never kissed me…you know...I checked later on...I found fingerprints and nail marks but no love bites.”

“I was not making love to you in a twisted way, Granger. You weren’t in love with me. It was not consensual…”

Staring at the reflection of the tracing finger she sighed, “Did you ever...you know? There was a time, I thought a bit about Victor, then Ron…”

A second finger joined the first one along with the thumb; the three fingers felt the ridge of her collar as they memorized its contours, “Not Potter?”

“Do you still hate him? Well, you shouldn't. Since sixth year started, I thought more about you.”

“No, I think I used to hate him…fuck, Granger!” His fingers dug into her shoulder as he pressed himself against her back, “Don’t talk about Potter, not now of all times, not if you want this to happen again, please.”

She arched back against him and relished the power he was readily giving up, “Keep talking to me; tell me what you had been thinking this week?”

“Can you handle the truth, Granger?” he groaned as his hands held her hips as he thrust against her. This was not enough, he needed more friction. He needed more freedom. He needed to recognize his body, like it was before being subjected to the Imperius curse. 

“Look into my eyes, Draco, and tell me what had you tongue tied since we arrived at Hogwarts?”

Hissing against her red ears, he pulled her closer, then held her heaving breasts in desperation. Across the greenish mirror, with eyes locked, he finally conceded, “I kept on wishing for all these wretched weeks...if ever I could have it on my terms; I would need a thorough plan, a perfect way by which I'm going to make you come first. No magic involved. Would you want that, Granger? Hypothetically speaking."

Her hands trapped his large palms and insisted they continue with their sensual ministrations. She could feel the heat as it soaked through her robes, shirt and licked every pore of her back. Her warm eyes grew wide each time he pushed and rubbed against the small of her back. 

She swallowed, trying to wet her suddenly dry throat. He watched her throat bob in response and squeezed harder. She wanted to tell him, this time, he was doing it right, so she finally dared to plant her puckered lips over his reflection. He had her half pinned against the mirror; her back sizzled while her face grew numb the longer it stayed pressed against the reflective surface. That was one of the hottest things anyone had said to her. Honestly, she didn't know how to respond to such absolute truth, his eyes never lied, she knew that already. Those stormy blue orbs happened to be the windows to his tortured and tattered soul. 

The silence stretched until the air rippled with pent up desire. The tension continued to mount along with the burning fire that stroked her passion each time his fingers closed around her possessively. The thought of having her body used for her childhood tormentor's pleasure, as well as using his body to meet her unresolved needs, made her wet. 

She moaned and bit her fist. She balanced their combined weight by placing her arm against the smooth surface of the mirror. His body engulfed her slender form yet she needed more. His fingers relentlessly squeezed her and made her realize that he knew her body better than her. She twisted herself halfway then pulled him down and sighed when their lips finally met. His fingers danced around her awakened nipples. Her fingers coiled around his straining member while their tongues fought for dominance. 

A wave of her hand tore their clothes off their panting bodies and they flew to the nearest bench. A wave of his hand warded the forgotten bathroom against intruders, both terrestrial and aquatic. The twenty one taps turned on their own and started filling the giant tub with exotic essences used around the last millennia. 

Still kissing her, he dragged her under the nearest shower head and let go. As she stood below the cascading water, Granger looked ethereal. Water tamed her voluminous hair and plastered those thick strands against her flushed skin. He wanted to see everything it dared to cover. When she sensed his displeasure, she brought her hands up and pulled her hair back. Her rib cage rose in response, and along with it, her breasts, making her nipples lick those thousand droplets of innocent water. He fisted his hands around his shaft and squeezed at the base, willing himself to hold on. 

Suddenly her back was against the wall. The cold damp flagstones dug into her spine and made her shiver. He had her wrists pinned next to her head. When he touched her nose, he studied his reflection in her wide eyes for a moment. For the first time, he saw himself staring back at him.

He clenched his jaw as he growled, “Finally,” then kissed her inviting lips once more. When they parted for more air, she was prepared with her answer. After she freed her hands from his grasp, she replied quickly, “No magic involved. No hypothetically speaking,” She tugged on his weeping member and twisted her wrist until he hissed in understanding, “I want to meet the man hidden below this mask.”

His eyes narrowed and, in retaliation, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged. It was her time to hiss, then moan when his mouth fastened itself around her aching nipple. His warm mouth eroded the numbness the cold mirror had issued. He grinned against her skin and suckled hungrily when he heard her sigh and press herself back against the wall behind them. His tongue made her see the storm and lightning behind her hooded eyelids and made her hear the roaring thunder close to her ears. 

He nestled his chin over her cleavage and listened to her pounding heart then he looked up at her face. Her finger traced his forehead, trailing over the worry lines she had often seen form during the last couple of years. They were faint. His dark mark rubbed against her wet skin in the same way her scar kissed his shoulder and flank.

He blew over her skin which made her smile. The corner of his lips curled in response.

"You like it a little rough, don't you?" he asked quietly. She threaded her fingers through his wet blonde hair and pushed him down on his knees and huffed, “What happened to that “mission" of yours? Small talk will get you nowhere, you know.” Dropping open mouth kisses on her wet patch of hair; he offered her to hold his hands and squeezed them slightly.

She watched him study her down there and blushed, muttering self-consciously, “I don't…maybe I should have prepared…” He looked up and planted a few reassuring kisses over her mound, “You are perfect Hermione. If I end up…”

“Draco, I trust you.”

His eyes never left her face as he rubbed his nose against her folds. 

“Draco!”

“Yes?”

She dug her nails into his hands, then moaned and rolled her hips impatiently.

If she hadn’t been looking at him, she would have missed it. Right in front of her lust hooded eyes, her childhood nemesis, her tormentor, her unwanted lover, her victim, shed his skin and evolved into the man she had been dreaming of. In a low husky voice, he asked once again, "You like it a little rough, don't you?"

She didn’t dare answer, he didn’t ask again; for there were some desires which were still forbidden to speak of so openly. 


End file.
